


make that a combo

by Pinkmanite



Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 05:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14634948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: “My employer can be quite persuasive,” Suit Man fishes out a card case, shuffling through the cards until he finds the one he  wants, “James Bond, I’m from MI6.”Still lacking glasses, Q knows that he’s taking the piss. He bites, “and I’m the fucking Queen. I can’t see shit, ta.”





	make that a combo

**Author's Note:**

> may or may not be crossposted on tumblr (baewhishaw), just moving things to AO3 for safekeeping!

Q doesn’t hate his job, but he really regrets missing the deadline for that on-campus computer lab job. Would’ve been better for his complexion than the grease-filled hellhole that currently pays his uni bills. 

He doesn’t even  _ like _ fast food.

However, Q is slightly more opposed to dealing with morons, so maybe the graveyard shift at the drive-thru isn’t so bad. More often than not, his shift consists of two or three cars--ranging from munchie-craving drunks to fellow graveyard workers--and plenty of time to do schoolwork.

Masters degrees don’t earn themselves, after all. 

Speaking of which, Q refills his paper cup with Coke and carefully flips the page of his battered old textbook. He got it secondhand (more like twentieth-hand) and he doesn’t need yet  _ another _ page accidentally torn out. If he’s careful enough, he can probably still sell it back for a fiver, even if the front cover  _ is _ torn off. 

He’s in the middle of a compelling passage on solid state componentry when there’s a sharp rapping on the drive-thru window. Staring back at him is a blond man in a bespoke suit, blue eyes wide and wild. Puzzled, Q reluctantly rolls open the window.

“Um, sir, I can’t serve you unless you’re in a car.”

“Look, kid, this is an emergency, just let me in,” the man in the suit demands, “I’ll pay you, alright? A hundred quid, I’ll give you a hundred quid.”

Q narrows his eyes at him but steals a glance at his pitiful textbook. Fine.

“Fifty up front.”

Suit Man rolls his eyes but goes for his wallet. He fishes out two bills and shoves them through the window. 

“Two hundred quid now kindly open the fucking door,” he pauses, “please.”

Q shoves the money in his pocket and wastes no time in running to the door and unlocking it, ushering Suit Man in. 

As soon as Suit Man is through the door, he whips around with something in his hand. Q barely has a moment to register that he’s aiming at  _ him _ before it goes black.

 

~

 

The first thing Q feels is the bloody awful headache on the side of his head. He forces himself to open his eyes and figure out what’s going on. His sight is blurry so reaches out to find his glasses. Or rather, he  _ tries _ to reach out. His arm won’t budge and he can’t quite feel his fingers.

Instantly wide awake, Q squints and tries to take in his surroundings. He can make out the shape of familiar stainless steel shelving from the store room. Great, he’s still at work. 

He tries his arms again, tugging more viciously this time. He focuses on the texture and decides that he’s been tied up with duct tape over the cuffs of his work shirt. Man, his boss is going to be pissed. 

Q suddenly remembers Suit Man and can’t help but groan, kicking himself for being so stupid. He should’ve just said no. Two hundred quid wasn’t worth it. Hell, the bastard probably took it back as soon he knocked him out. And now he’d have to start job hunting again. Fuck this.

“Morning,” says a voice behind him. Q tries his best to turn in that direction but can’t seem to find the man’s figure. Must be the Suit Man, so Q bites out a string of lovely curses.

“Calm down,” says Suit Man, “I’m sorry I had to do that. It was in your best interest. The less you know, the better it is for you. Unfortunately, we’re still locked down in here for a few more hours. When does the next employee come in?”

“Seven,” replies Q, “but I’m supposed to be out there taking orders. My boss is going to kill me.”

Suit Man rolls his eye but offers, “don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

Well that’s reassuring. “And what power do you have to ahem,  _ take care of it _ .”

“My employer can be quite persuasive,” Suit Man fishes out a card case, shuffling through the cards until he finds the one he  wants, “James Bond, I’m from MI6.”

Still lacking glasses, Q knows that he’s taking the piss. He bites, “and I’m the fucking Queen. I can’t see shit, ta.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Bond slides Q’s glasses back on and everything comes back into focus. Q winces as his eyes adjust. Bond holds up the card again.

Although the card assures employment with MI6, Q is still skeptical. It’s just a business card, after all. Q muses that he should get his own MI6 cards printed, just for shits.

“Whether or not you believe me, I don’t really care,” Bond murmurs, sliding his hand into his jacket, “because there are some very bad people prowling the area and it’s my job to take them out by any means necessary.”

And well, it’s not like Q is any position to argue.


End file.
